Unwanted Child
by Yusuke'sSister
Summary: Kiara Higurashi is the 12 year old daughter of an abusive demon lord and a deceased spirit detective. When Yusuke saves her from her father, she begins to live with him. Yet Kiara isn't someone to simply to ignore. A re-type of Unwanted Child.


**YS**- I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho. I own Kiara and a few additional characters. Enjoy.

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**Kiara's (Key-yar-ra) POV:**

Lately I've been scared. There's been a constant pounding in my head and I can't seem to brush the noise away like usual. The noise just gets harder and louder by the minute, my heart is constantly racing, and I've been quick to curl into a ball to take the blows from Taro, my father, without a fight. There's been a certain silence parading around the house and Taro can't seem to find the right curse word to scream at me. He always does, and now he's too lost in thought to even think of one, but that's not why I've been scared. I've been terrified because I can't seem to remember… my mother, her face, or her voice in any shape or form. My dreams are empty, my thoughts can't grasp on a memory of her, and I'd be foolish to dare mention my mother to Taro. I'm worried. I can't even remember her name.

In the past, when more people were in my life, they told me I looked like my mom. I used to get excited when I heard that type of news. For me that was a compliment, even if I couldn't remember how she looked. In my imagination there was no one else prettier. My round young face and short light-brown hair certainly come from my mother, but my ice eyes are Taro's. It's funny his temper is nothing, but a ball of fire, my temper is a fire reaching out to burn something, and yet our eyes manage to be ocean-blue ice. Taro even thinks that I look like my mother because sometimes he'll say, through clenched teeth "you look like _her."_ That wasn't compliment coming from him, it was meant to bitter, cruel, and heartless. He doesn't care anymore if I'm hurt or crying. Why should he? After all, he's probably the reason.

The memory of my mother is faint, extremely faint, and I've been panicking in the sudden lost thought of her. I know there are no pictures in the house of her; Taro burned them when she died, but there is one thing Taro has never taken from me and was given by my mother. A necklace. The necklace is the exact same color of my eyes; it's circle and reminds me of a bright blue marble I once saw at school. The base of the necklace is iron rusted and there are two iron pieces that are shaped as two curls against the sides of the necklace. The necklace hangs from my neck almost constantly, but I'm scared Taro going to wretch it from my possession one day. I keep it hidden in either my worn-out sneakers or the floorboard in my room. If Taro notices it, he ignores it. Maybe he doesn't care for the necklace as long as I get hit that day. He always has an excuse, even if I'm on my best behavior.

Except for our eyes Taro and I are two strangers under the same roof, or at least that's what we tell ourselves. He looks very human, walks with elegance, his skin is smooth, and has frail hands, so it's a wonder to others how an "angel" face becomes angry. His hair is silver, short, and hangs in small tufts behind his ears. Taro is tall among his friends, and it's intimidating while I stand at a measly four-foot six. At times he'll bend down in front of me, place his hand on my bruised shoulder and whisper in my ear. His voice is chilling, I shake in the sound of it, and his breath smells like wintergreen gum. Most of the time he says "_I'm going to kill you one _day." I believe him sometimes.

When he and I are alone time is slow, very slow, and he becomes frightening as he whispers to me, the way a mother whisper to her half-asleep child. He likes to mess with my mind and my feelings until the point where I'm forced to say I cannot go on without him. He likes the call of desperation; perhaps it soothes his guilt, like he is doing me a favor. Nevertheless, he'll **never **admit to me in private he is _my father_, he hates saying _that_ word. I _hate _saying that word. I was to address him as 'Taro', anything beyond that was crossing the boundaries. Although, he manages to say 'your mine' once in awhile and 'girl' the rest of the time, he will never say my name. In public he will, he'll even say nicknames, like we're father and daughter, hand in hand, and walking by life with smiles on our faces.

In public he and I are polite, always saying thank you, and please to the point I thought I barfed in my mouth once. He strives on manners in front of people, he makes up stories, and I'm supposed to play along like a puppet on strings. He keeps me close in public and it has occurred to me more than once to run away. Once, I even did, but he found me, dragged me to our home in the woods, where no one will stop his iron fist. The "games" he has are an endless less and the first rule to every game was that he won, I was the loser, and any cheating will cause a harsher punishment.

There are few times I'm not in public with him, like at school, where I'm a different person. I'm not loud, but I do talk and I Taro is highly concerned with our appearance. If he feels my grades are beginning to slip he will force me to sit down and write. If I'm too weak, he'll do it himself. He does anything to keep our appearance. "Smile", he reminds me when we are in front of adults. A nudge to the back, a glare is give to me, and I smile, hating every minute of it.

I try to steer away from the idea of friendships. Taro will kill them if I try to make friends. I know he will. Many times before he's brought a human girl home for a round of nightly pleasure and the next morning she'd be dead. For that I keep away from people who get too close, and I don't suppose death is quite fair to someone, who hasn't a clue of whom really are. A few kinds find my anti-social attitude mysterious, fun, and a challenge, while others nit-pick at my life. Seventh grade, what a life that was becoming, nobody was going to save me from this school year.

I can't think of anyone that would ever suck up the courage and come face Taro. I'm not saying that there isn't someone out there, but Taro _is_ the demon fire lord and anyone with brain would know a fire lord isn't someone you temper with. They're known having an extremely short fuse, curse words on the tip of their tongue, and merciless killings across the human and demon world. Taro is responsible for a few of the human killings, but he tends to stick to the deaths of demon world. For generations his family has had the throne of the fire realm, but I've never met them or been to demon world. He, a few of his friends, and I live in the human world, but every so often Taro goes home for a visit and reminds everyone _he_ is in charge until he is either dead or appoints someone new. After that his first-born son was to take the throne, but since I seem to be neither a son nor worthy of the title, Taro isn't sure who to give it to. I only know this because his reminded me of his high rank and the disgrace I was to Higurashi family name for being nothing more than a half-demon.

I had a few expect minimal powers from Taro, but none of which I could perform, control, or witness. In fact I doubt I was ever going to get my powers. Somehow I think Taro wouldn't have minded that. My body is twenty five percent fire; Taro figured that out, because I suffer, like many weak fire demons, the disadvantages of being one. I'm immensely sensitive to cold; all fire demons are, unless they are fairly powerful (like Taro). This means even in the slightest change of temperature towards cold can cause mood swings and body weariness. Swimming is fine, though I never have tried, and even rain can be all right if it isn't pouring. Taro knows all this, of course. That's why he makes the closet very cold, and sticks me in it, or has me stand in the snow till I'm shaking. His idea of swimming was trying to drown me, he's tried, and I found out I'm not a good swimmer.

The twenty five percent of my powers are supposed to come from my mother who, I've learned, was something that everyone called a "spirit detective." Now I can't tell you precisely what that means, I've never known, but according to Taro it's something wickedly awful. There is very little talk about spirit detective in the house unless one wants to curse one out with every harsh comment under the sun, so I never know what power that is to hold. The other fifty-percent of me is very human and I, as Taro has told me angrily, get that from my half human mother. It's a disgrace, especially to the fire lord, for any demon to bare even an ounce of a human child, so if you can imagine the look on the _Lord's_ face when he was cursed with me as a child. Boy, must' a been hell of a week for him, but I've been paying for this all my life. I'm hurt too. I don't know why he's the only one whining about it. My glory, my head hurts like hell.

I'm certain my lack of fighting back and unusual quietness this week strikes Taro as suspicious, but he hasn't said anything, and I am not about to point that out to him. How in the world could I ask Taro my mother's name? That's trouble brewing in the very thought. Between him and I every problem I have is stupid, and everything he is bothered by will be cured by one swig of beer, and a couple punches to his venting tool, me. Sure, I've fought back, yelled, and had the wildest idea to just get up and leave, but I always end up right here in the closet, exhausted. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to get up in the morning, put my shoes on, and walk downstairs. For what? Another hit? Another talking to? Another reminder whose the boss and whose the underpaid worker never going to be promoted? I don't know. I just keep finding myself getting up and dressed, moving along each day, and hoping for something to happen. It's stupid, I know, but like everything else I can't seem to stop wishing for someone to come along and take away this life. Some hero…yeah…in a cape, a green one.

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**YS**- I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Read and Review. Thank You!


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